


Death Omens

by Sprinkledcupcake



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst, Asylum, BAMF Aziraphale, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Gore, Brain Damage, Consensual Possession, Crime, Dark Crowley, Dark Omens, Demonic Possession, Detective Aziraphale, Disabled Character, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Murders, Happy Ending, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, IT Specialst Newt, M/F, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Murder Mystery, Mystery, OOC characters, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Seizures, Sick Character, Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Sickfic, Slow Burn, Sort of...#demonpossession, Supernatural - Freeform, Temporary Amnesia, Violence, Wheelchair newt, Witch Anathema, graphic depictions of crime scenes, m/m - Freeform, split personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sprinkledcupcake/pseuds/Sprinkledcupcake
Summary: Aziraphale is an Angel sent to earth to hunt demons in the city of New London. Under the human name of Az Fell, he uses his position as a Detective to hunt the demons along with his partner, a witch named Anathema Device, and Newton Pulsifer, a computer genius.A serial killer known as the Side Street Killer has Az and his team on the hunt for the demon behind the murders. The clues left behind lead Az to an already imprisoned man suspected to be another serial killer. A man Az arrested a year ago, who has no memory of who he was.The redhead goes by the name assigned to him, John Smith, and while he doesn't know who he is, he knows one thing. His name isn't John fucking Smith. His personality has split after being bludgeoned over his head, and while he knows his other half isn't a good man, he doesn't believe he's the killer he's accused of. He's fought through the brain damage caused by the blow, assaulted by seizures and fits he would wish on no other human; however, when the gorgeous Detective that caused his problems asks for his help, he can't refuse.Now he only has to remember his past, fight a hoard of angry demons hunting him down, and try not to fall for the blond angel who is protecting him.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Anthony Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 28





	1. St.Beryls Home for the Criminally Insane

St. Beryl's Home For The Criminally Insane was residence to the lost souls of the world. Locked away behind its perfectly whitewashed walls and manicured gardens resided the deranged, murderous, and otherwise undesirable members of society. 

Inmate 2794 was one such undesirable. 

Locked within a padded cell, deep within St.Beryl's depths, he lay in a drug-induced fog, brown eyes stared vacantly at the florescent light above until the shape of the bulb was visible even when he blinked. A slow dribble of drool pooled from the corner of chapped lips, trailing down his cheek to join the puddle soaked into the dirty fabric on the flooring. 

In his opinion, the whole place could use a good cleaning. Even so, he found himself staring at the stains, imagining shapes and patterns in them just to keep his mind occupied. Incarceration had a habit of being _boring._ Had someone passed him a sponge, he might have even given the place a good wash just to change up the routine. 

As it was, 2794 had no idea how long he had been in solitary confinement. He simply knew it had been a long while. There are no details to tell the time, only a haze of rage and murderous intent. He was sure he was back now though, he could no longer hear the voice at the back of his mind, screaming for release.

Maybe the drugs had actually worked this time.

He marveled in the silence while he could, but the sound of his cell door clanking open startled him from his musing. It let in the sounds from beyond. The raving screams of his neighbors slammed against his ears, and he groaned when they made his head ring. That was the problem with living in an asylum; quiet wasn't really a thing. He never could understand how he was supposed to 'heal' in this place. The only time he had a moment of silence was in solitary.

2794 dragged himself upright into a seated slouch on the padded floor. Ready to greet whoever entered. It was an awkward, stunted move with his arms trapped inside the confines of the straitjacket. The light outside shined in through the door gap, and he blinked owlishly at the orderly who peaked his head into the room.

"Oy, 2794, you feeling yourself yet, lad?" The man asked with a raised eyebrow. 

"God, yes. I don't want to see another bloody syringe for the rest of my life." The prisoner said, his voice barely a rasp with how dry his throat was. He offered a tired, lopsided grin to the man. He knew full well he was a scary bastard on his worst days and tried his best to show he was rational again, despite the way he looked.

He was sweat-damp, and dark bruise-like circles marred the undersides of his eyes, giving him an almost skeletal look. Not to mention he was definitely covered in an unseemly amount of vomit and, by the smell of it, piss. Disgusting. At least there wasn't shite this time. He hated it when that happened. 

"Good to hear your back with us, Mr. Smith. You have to take your meds, but I won't have 'em sedate you unless you make me." The orderly said, stepping into the room fully. He was a tall fellow, balding, and one of the few staff members 2794 actually liked. The man went by the name Shadwell, a retired Sergeant finding a new way after service. "If you feel like behaving, I'll switch you to the cuffs, take you to a shower, and you can have some telly time before therapy. I'll even get you a cup of jelly." 

"Cherry?" 2794 asked, wrinkling his nose at the name he'd been given. John Smith? Pfft. He may not know his name, but he had a strong feeling it wasn't John fucking Smith. Needless to say, his opinion on the matter had never been discussed. It was easier than arguing, and he'd rather be John than 2794. It felt humanizing, like he wasn't just some number in a logbook somewhere.

"I'll see what I can do. You gonna let me touch you today, eh?" Shadwell asked, his lips curled in a huge grin, hands on his hips as he looked his patient over. That was why John liked him. The man still treated him like he was human. It was more than he deserved.

"Yeah. Just want a wash. Better you than them." The prisoner replied, rubbing his face on his knee and glancing at the door where three nurses stood, watching him warily. He could see the plastic gleam of syringes in their hands. They might not want to get close to him, but they stood at the ready if they had to assist Shadwell.

"Right. Lucky they have me, eh? Just a little scared of you, is all. Never you mind them." Shadwell said with a waggle of his eyebrows, dropping into a squat in front of his patient, looking him keenly in the eyes and seeing only exhaustion. It wouldn't be the first time John Smith had faked lucidity. Which was why he had the nurses outside the door waiting in case he acted out, sedatives at the ready.

John seemed to prefer his care in particular, and St.Beryls had made several exceptions in their practices so that Shadwell would be the one to do the majority of it. Such exceptions were the only way they had been able to handle John, especially when he lost his stability. Shadwell didn't mind, the lad might be a deranged nutter, but he had a good heart. 

Over the month's John had been here, the Sergeant had come to the point that he could tell the difference between the two sides of the troubled young man. It was all in the eyes. Right now, there was no evil present in the brown orbs, just pure and utter exhaustion. Just the way he wanted it. 

"There ya are. Come on, up ya go. Let's get you showered and see how the day goes, eh?" Shadwell asked, reaching out to hook his hands beneath John's underarms and haul him upright onto shaky legs. He was light, too light if Shadwell were honest, understandable, eating wasn't high on John's priority list.

"Doesn't sound like you have much hope for me." The redhead said bluntly, shuddering at the touch of the other's hands, he hated it, but Shadwell was fully aware of his aversion, releasing him as soon as he was sure he wouldn't fall on his arse. 

"We lost you for three weeks. This isn't the first time we've had this conversation." Shadwell murmured reluctantly before ushering John into the corner of the room. 

"Three weeks?" John squeaked in alarm, dropping his head into the corner of the padded cell, and holding still so he wouldn't frighten the older man. He was so tired of this. 

"Yep. I wasn't sure if you were coming back. Pleased you did, prefer you this way." Shadwell chirped while he undid the buckles and snaps of John's jacket warily. He'd taken a special training course just to handle the poor lad. John was nothing if not predictable, always attacking moments after being released. Shadwell was lucky; John never went after him personally. When no immediate reaction came, Shadwell continued to free the redhead.

"I thought I was doing better." 2794 groaned, thumping his head against the wall. It was dismaying. This was the worst break he'd had in the months since they had found him a reliable medication.

"Eh, none of tha'. You already have enough brain damage. There we are." Shadwell muttered as he dropped the jacket to the ground and immediately hooked a restraint belt to John's waist. "This is just a minor setback, happens all the time—hands in the cuffs. You know the routine. There ya are, laddy, and we'll be on the way to that shower," he instructed, buckling in the soft leather shackles around wrists that were far too thin. "Ya smell like piss." The orderly added, grinning at the chuckle he drew from his charge.

"Yeah, well, you should do a better job. I don't feel like I'm receiving appropriate care, Shadwell." John joked, they both knew it was impossible to offer 'appropriate care' when he lost it.

"They didn't hire me for my bedside manner!" The orderly teased back, cracking his knuckles and stepping back to let John out of the corner.

"You're all set. Come along, then, let's get you out of this godforsaken room. Hardly fit for a human, I'd say." Shadwell added goodnaturedly, stepping back to wave John through the door. He gave the three nurses a hearty salute as he stepped into the hallway.

The inmate kept his head down, refusing to meet the terrified gazes of his caretakers. He couldn't blame them; he wasn't exactly the easiest patient to work with. He bared his teeth in self-hatred, his fingers plucking anxiously at the edge of the cuff. Unlike many at St.Beryls, he wanted to get better. He didn't want people to fear him the way they did. It just so happened what he wanted wasn't something he could achieve.

It felt good to move, and if it wouldn't have startled his caretaker, John might have been tempted to get a little a jog in. Instead, he stretched his muscles slowly, rolling stiff shoulders to get back into the motion of things.

The corridors were, the echos of other inmates assaulting his ears, and he glared back at the ones who dared meet his eyes through the wired panels of glass. As he passed, the halls dropped into disconcerted silence, heavy with fear. Those that knew him knew better than to meet his gaze. 

"I just love walking this place with ya, laddy. It gets positively tranquil in here." Shadwell sighed, idly stretching his arms up above his head and waving awkwardly at a glowering prisoner who peered at them from his cell. Shadwell was an odd man, with little care that the reason it was so quiet was that, to everyone else, John was terrifying. 

"Happy to help." John grinned conspiratorially at the other man, shrugging his shoulders innocently. While John wanted to be sane for his nurses and himself, he knew better than to do the same with the other inmates. Like him, they were in this place for a reason, and none of them were here for something as simple as insanity. If he gave an inch in this place, they would eat him alive. 

Murderers and fiend's the lot of them, just like John.

The pair made it to the bathing room, empty, but for the laundry women leaving with a cart loaded full of dirty washing. John bounced on his toes at the sight of the showers, anxiously waiting as Shadwell attached new restraints to the latch on a wall, these allowing him more freedom of movement so he could wash mostly unhindered.

The large concrete stalls offered little privacy, without doors or even cloth panels. For John, it was normal; he couldn't recall a shower before this place. Couldn't recall much of anything, actually. Brain damage would do that to a man. Peeling the stinking fabric from his skin, he wrinkled his nose and tossed it into the nearby bin rather than the hamper. 

"Good choice, that," Shadwell said with a laugh, dropping into a chair with a groan while John went about his business. 

John's shirt hung midchain, unable to get free with the security measures in place, he ignored it, happily twisting the tap to let water fly free. The sensation of the first drops of hot water on his skin made him hum in delight. He tipped his head back, scrubbing his eyes to remove the salty crust of dried tears. 

Without waiting to acclimate, he flipped the water tab over. Increasing the temperature to as hot as the buildings meager pipes would allow, he reveled in the heated water warming him down to his very bones. It washed away the remnants of his confinement, along with the use of a healthy dose of soap. Shadwell let him linger, pretending to fall asleep on the monitor bench beside the stall. He took advantage of the kindness, searing his skin for as long as the other man let him get away with it.

Broken nails snagged and scrubbed through the downright mess of his hair to try and get it clean. He plucked at the snarled mass with his long fingers, his efforts doing little to undo the knotting. It was matted beyond saving, except the half clipped short on his left side. At some point, he knew he would have to let someone cut it, but he was putting off that ordeal for as long as possible. His fingertips ran along the puckered scar tissue curling along his scalp, not yet hidden by the growth of hair. He closed his eyes as a flash of memory twisted through his broken brain. 

Through the bloodied haze, he remembered steel blue eyes staring down at him. He could never remember the face that went along with that gaze, just the outright disgust, and callous dismissal as if John deserved to have his skull caved in. Those eyes haunted him, his own personal judge and jury. 

John sucked in a sharp breath, muscles going taught. It was like he could feel the repeated blows falling upon him, the sharp crack of his skull breaking beneath the force of a baton. He could still feel the blood running down his temple and into his eyes, blurring his vision.

"No, no, no." John choked, staggering free from the hot water as it mimicked the wet sensation of blood. Blood everywhere, his blood and someone else's, mixing together in a hot soup. He sucked in a sharp, panicked breath, pressing a hand to his head and groaning audibly when a spike of pain lanced through his temples. 

"Oy, deep breath, lad. Come on. You're a right prune, ya been soaking so long. Have a seat on the bench here." Shadwell said as he rose to stand at John's side. He was there within an instant, hyper-aware of his patient, even when faking a nap. The cuffs on John's wrists fell to the ground with a clink.

"Bloody hell. Head hurts," John groaned, allowing Shadwell to guide him, his bare ass colliding with the cold concrete of a bench before he dropped his head between his knees. He breathed in ragged breaths, unsure if the pain was real or some phantom memory. 

He could never understand how in the hell he could recall those last moments, the judging eyes-- like God herself was looking into his soul, and yet he couldn't remember anything before that. His memory was a blank slate, filled in by the words of others and horrific photographs of things he would never think himself capable of.

John dragged his long limbs in, hugging his knees to his chest and sucking in a ragged breath that bubbled against his wet legs. He scooted his body backward until he felt the securing chill of tiled wall, rocking back and forth to try and gain some control of his quickly fracturing psyche. 

He could feel the hot drip of blood on his hands, feel a knife clutched in his palm as he cut through flesh and muscle. The screams of his victims ricocheted through his mind, filled with accusation and outrage. Whether memory or manufactured, it was vivid, sucking him in as surely as if it were reality. 

A touch on his wrist jerked John back to the real world, and he recoiled with a cry, twisting his hands away from the source. His frantic gaze met Shadwell's pale eyes- blue, they were blue.

_How are they here? They can't be here!_ 2794 thought frantically.

"Get away from me!" he screeched, his features contorting into horrified fear at the sight. 

"Come now, laddy, just let me get your cuffs on before ya lose it. Make everyone feel a little safer." Shadwell said nervously, hoping to pull on John's rationality. Stupid, it had been so stupid to let his patient off of his chains. He had seemed so rational at the time, just a simple headache. He should have known better. "It'll be alright, John."

"My name isn't John!" 2794 spat, lips curling in a snarl of disgust. He was tired of being called that, tired of not knowing who he was. 

"I know...I know, just have ta call you something, lad." Shadwell said, trying to pacify John. Glancing back toward the hallway, where another orderly was guiding in their patient. He gave the woman a slow shake of his head, hoping she would understand that they had a situation on their hands and to get help.

"I-I don't feel right." 2794 gasped, his voice going from anger to worry in an instant when he finally recognized Shadwell. It took him a moment, but the color of his eyes was all wrong, too pale. After that, he was able to orient himself and realize what was happening. Every ounce of color in his already pale face disappeared. "Shite. Hurry." he croaked, holding out his hands to the orderly, his fear mimicked by the other. He tried to drag in slow breaths to calm himself down off the edge. It was futile. He could never stop _him_ from coming.

That's when Shadwell saw _it_ in John's left eye. Yellow, it was yellow. Evil, this was the part of John he, and everyone else, feared. Only sheer strength of will let him step close to his patient and clasp the shackles into place with shaking hands, the knowledge that the other eye had yet to glint with that horrid glow giving him the courage to step close.

Within moments, the hazel brown of John's eye was swallowed by golden yellow, and a twisted smile curled the young man's lips.

"Hello, Shadwell." the newcomer purred, all fear and anxiety absent from his features as his cuffed hands shot out to capture the orderly around the neck.

Shadwell had been right. The rest of the day did not end well. 


	2. The Side Street Killer

Several streets away from the screaming wards of St. Beryls, the sun was setting over London. Fog rolled in from the river, filling the city streets with a billowing mass of gray and white. A winter chill was in the air, nipping at the heels of Detective Az Fell as he ran, his long coat stirring the mist in his wake.

The traffic was incredible, the street to his left having come to a standstill. The honking of air horns and the shouts of irritable people were the soundtrack to the evening and told the Detective he was heading in the right direction. As the sun fell over the horizon, the multitudes of headlights illuminated the street until they gave way to the flash of police blue and lines of yellow barrier tape.

Az let out a breath of relief, slowing to a reasonable pace for long enough to recapture the long blond curls that had escaped the bun tied behind his head and tuck them back in place. He straightened his buttondown shirt and collar, ensuring the majority of his tattoos were covered as he caught his breath.

He was exhausted, it was his seventh day on the job, and the cases just kept stacking up. He wasn't sure he was ready for yet another grisly crime scene. He could already smell the tang of blood in the air, searing his nostrils. _Just one day, I just want one damn day without another killing._ Az thought, scrubbing a hand over the stubble on his cheeks. He had barely washed the stench of the last crime scene off his body. He had a feeling this was going to become a habit until they caught this guy.

"Az!" a woman called, startling the man from his musing. Fell looked up toward the voice, waving shortly to the tall, long-haired woman trotting toward him, looking far too elegant to be at a crime scene. She wore her street clothes, a green velveteen jacket, and a matching skirt warding off the chill evening air.

"Anathema! Good, you got my message." Az greeted, walking to meet her halfway. There were fewer people in the middle of the cordoned-off streets than the pavement at the side.

"Yes. I can't believe they killed so soon. This is getting ridiculous." Anathema hissed under her breath as she tucked her hand into the hook of his arm.

"Prolific bastard, isn't he? I suppose murderers don't work on our schedule."

"No, they don't. Let's go capture the monster, hmm?" Anathema asked with a malicious grin. She patted his arm before striding forward, her heels clicking on the cobbled road beneath her, as she made introductions to the team protecting the crime scene so that Fell would not have to go about such a pesky business. 

Bypassing the welcoming committee, the detective ducked beneath the line of barrier tape blocking off their scene and entered the alleyway that held the latest victim of the Side Street Killer. Az sucked in a sharp breath. Even in the darkness, with a few lamps set up to give them an idea of the scope of this murder, it was a view fit for nightmares.

Blood, blood everywhere, splashed across the large dumpster that took up the bulk of the alley and over brick walls and stone streets. The smell of rot had already set it, flies swarming the area in a frenzy of excitement. Az idly pressed the back of his hand to his nose, the lavender oil he had on his sleeve, overwhelming the stench of death, and stepped further into the scene. The distinct click of Anathema's arrival sounded behind him, and he heard her gag in surprise. 

"You alright, Anathema?"

"It's rather worse than I feared, Az," Anathema said after gaining her composure. She cleared her throat and adjusted the collar of her jacket before waving for the police on the scene to come close. "Clear out, if you would. DCI Fell would like to look at the scene alone." she directed the pair.

"Ay, we left it just as it was. Only photos are taken so far, so don't go messing with nothing." a young Constable said gruffly, his lip curled in unconcealed disdain toward the woman. Some men still couldn't handle being told what to do by a female. 

"I wasn't aware I had turned into an idiot since my last crime scene, Constable," Anathema said with a raised eyebrow at the large man, her arms crossing over her chest, her voice surprisingly cordial considering her choice in language. Az chuckled and shook his head, glancing back at the poor victim of Anathema's ire. 

"I suggest you leave. DI Device is merely feigning calm, and I will not be the one to pull her off of you." Az told the officer. He couldn't blame the man, they were both in plain clothes, and she had yet to introduce herself. There were very few female DI's in their line of work, but it would have behooved the man to have a bit of decorum. "Come along, Anathema," he added as he turned away from the pair. He didn't need to hear the constables embarrassed apologies.

Az sidestepped the Inspectors leaving at their bequest. His nose wrinkled as he looked up at the poor soul, strung through the air several meters above them. The victim had left the world as naked as he had when he entered it, and far more violently. Like a fly in a web, the man was suspended by rope, thick strands piercing grotesquely through flesh. Hands, feet, torso; it was everywhere-- visible in lumps beneath his skin. The sheer weight of the corpse on the rope-laced wounds had the flesh tearing; the grotesque netting would surely stay up there longer than the body would.

Azira's gaze followed the intricate webbing to their tie off. The ropes had been strung down from scaffolding and pipes. Even the bars covering windows played a role. It would have taken a ladder or even a bucket truck to reach some of the areas, the rope carrying on to the second story of the surrounding buildings. The more the Detective looked, the more complex the web seemed to grow. 

The amount of effort that must have gone into this murder was incredible.

"This is different-- this is complicated. It would have taken hours." Az murmured, his voice hushed.

"His throat is slit," Anathema added, pacing the perimeter of the body suspended above them, the eerie _drip, drip, drip_ of blood falling from his toes to join the puddle beneath punctuating her every step. "My instinct says he was killed elsewhere and displayed here. However, all of this blood wouldn't be here...and the arterial spray is still dripping." 

"What?" the detective asked in surprise, walking around to where Anathema stood to look at the grisly smile bisecting the man's neck; she was right. Blood still oozed from the wound. "That's impossible. This scene has been secure for almost forty minutes." He said, stepping back and clicking on his torch to ensure they had not imagined things. Flys swarmed in protest of the light, pulsating around the wound in an absurdly large mass, obscuring it from sight. There, peeking through the swarm-- fresh blood, still spilling from the artery. 

"How is that possible," he whispered, his gaze traveling upward from the garish wound, where flys swarmed the man's head, a breeding ground for maggots, his features obscured by the swarm of them, the sound audible even at the distance they stood. 

The harrowing buzz nibbled at his ears, and he shook his head to try and rid himself of it as his mind whirled to put together what could have happened. "The rope piecing had to have taken place at a different scene. They must have rigged him up and transported him here to display him. Look at the blood. It's pooled down his chest, dripping off his toes." he said as he paced around the corpse, carefully avoiding the mess of bodily fluids covering the ground.

"If they cut his throat before they put him up there, I doubt he would have been standing. Blood should be on the back." Az continued, frowning as paced behind the body once more. "There's nothing here except for what's left from the piercing," he concluded, letting his words hang in the air, the silence filled by nothing but the buzz of flies. 

"Is that possible? Can a human survive this kind of torture? Because if I didn't know any better Az, I'd say this man died just minutes ago." Anathema replied, utterly confused; everything about this crime scene was a mess. Az chewed his lower lip before pale eyes went wide with sudden understanding.

"Bollocks! What if he wasn't dead when we got here?" the detective spat, spinning in a circle to look into every shadow and crevasse, searching for something hiding in the darkness. Something evil. There was nothing there, no lurking villain ready to pounce. He cursed again before turning and jogging back to the front of the alley.

"What? Az!" Anathema called, trailing after him.

"Stay here. Watch him." He held a hand back toward her, stopping her from following. In front of him, silence fell in a wave upon the waiting crowd of personnel, as they turned to look at him in blatant surprise. 

"Who the hell cleared this scene?" he called out, searching through the group.

"We did, sir." a female constable said, stepping forward hesitantly. Her features were washed out, and she smelled of sick even from where she stood. "I'm Constable Watt. This is Constable Burkes." The DCI nodded curtly in greeting, not caring one bit for the formalities. \"We were on our rounds. Found him up there. Called it in," the woman said. 

"Was his throat slit when you got here?" he asked, voice hushed to avoid alerting the gathering crowd of journalists at the edges of police tape. The pair glanced at one another before shaking their heads.

"No, sir," Burkes said, scratching beneath his cap. "Just strung up there like that, sir."

"And did you check for a pulse?"

"Er, no one could survive that sir....no one." Watt said, her eyes widening for a moment, "Right?"

"Bloody hell! Get out of my face. Watt, you have vomit on your shoe, get yourself cleaned up." he added, his features contorted in anger. This scene just got a hell of a lot more complicated. Their killer was there, right under their noses. Worse yet, he had finished the poor bastard off with a whole crew of police surrounding him.

"The lot of you gather in!" he called, arms crossed over his chest as the officers gathered around. He didn't want to cause a panic, but they had to act quickly. "This is an embarrassment. Our killer was just here, and not one of you saw him. Get to interviewing anyone on-site, and I want someone on the rooftops." he hissed before straitening up to address everyone. 

This next bit, the news could get ahold of.

"Someone out there saw this! I want every flat door knocked on in that building," he called, pointing to the residential building across the way. "Get roadblocks set out at every street within a two-kilometer radius." DCI Fell added, waving a hand in dismissal before tucking back under the barrier tape to where Anathema waited.

"What? What happened, Az?" Anathema asked.

"Give me some cover, love. I have a feeling we are not alone," he whispered as he passed her, pacing in front of the body.

"Of course. Give me a moment." Anathema said, glancing back toward the opening to the alleyway. The whole lot of them were running about trying to follow the DCI's orders, and not a one seemed to be paying them much mind. Good. Raising her chin, she plucked her velveteen glove from her fingertips before tucking them into the pocket of her coat. 

She murmured a spell under her breath, twisting her long fingers to initiate her casting. Az watched impatiently from his peripheral as a lavender glow radiated from her deep black eyes moments before the curtain of her hair concealed them from his sight. He felt the energy in the air itself, causing a ripple of goosebumps across his skin as it surged from her fingertips. 

It was barely visible, even to him, a fluctuating surge of power like a heatwave, dancing in his eyes. With a flick of Anathema's fingers, an illusion took form, slowly crawling outward and filling the breadth of the alleyway. It left an almost iridescent barrier on everything it touched, expanding in all directions until it swallowed the extent of their space.

In the street beyond, Constable Watt finished pouring bottled water over her shoe, rinsing off the bits of vomit DCI Fell had seen, with cheeks still flushed from embarrassment. A flicker of light in the alley caught her eye, and she blinked, looking up at the two Detectives within.

"What the?" She murmured, straitening up. She needed to get something to eat. She could have sworn that the Detectives had been standing on the left, near the dumpster. Only they weren't there, and neither was the dumpster. It was like everything had just switched sides; everything swapped to the right side. "Burkes, did you see that?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"What? Come on, we're on flat duty. Let's go." her partner said, his attention on the officer directing them all. 

"R-right." Constable Watt shook her head, glancing one last time at the pair of detectives huddled together, seemingly discussing the scene.

"We are concealed. It's a Mirror Illusion, so don't leave without me," Anathema said, letting out a measured breath and primly putting her gloves back on. The glow of magic left her eyes until she looked like nothing more than a perfectly average woman. 

"Good, thank you." he heaved out a breath of relief, nodding to her in gratitude. Az hadn't stopped pacing in front of her the entire time she cast her spell, his impatience evident. "The victim's throat wasn't slit when they found him. Someone killed him in front of half the damn force." the detective explained, rolling his shoulder before taking off his trench coat to hand to the witch.

"How? There were too many people here. Someone would have caught him," Anathema said, taking his jacket.

"You know damn well how. Our killer isn't human. It's a demon, and it's gotten stronger with every kill. It's powerful now if it's shown itself like this. Maybe it even knows I'm here." Az growled as he unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it off to reveal toned muscles covered in tattoos.

The black ink scrolled over his pale flesh in beautiful arches and swirls of script, unreadable to the human eye, Enochian prayers every one of them. A cross lined the length of his throat, it's southern point morphing into the blade of a sword as trailed across his sternum.

"Maybe not. Despite what you're thinking, Az, humans can be just as cruel as demons. You know that as well as anyone." Anathema said as she added his shirt to the pile, a waft of lavender wiping away the scent of death for one brief moment as she tucked it in the crook of her arm.

"I like to believe the lot of you are inherently good, this--this is not something a human would think to do. This is evil. It screams demon." Az said, glancing at his partner, whose eyes were lavender once more. She was busy weaving more spells into the air, summoning a radiant orb of light to illuminate their space and casting the horrible scene into disgusting light. The flys enveloping the head of their victim hummed, the swarm fluctuating, almost as one in protest to the light. 

"You've said that before."

"Yeah, yeah. Shite, it's worse like this." Az said with a grimace. He might have preferred it to stay dark. 

"Horrid." she agreed, looking exceptionally beautiful in such a disgusting place; in the light, he realized she even had herself elevated just above the ground so as not to get her shoes dirty. Prim little thing that she was. "Hurry Az, I don't want anyone to walk past the illusion."

Az hummed his agreement and pulled a short blade free from a sheath at his waist. The edge of the knife found its way to the pale flesh of his thumb and parted the skin with ease. He sheathed the weapon once more before closing his eyes and stroking the bloodied digit up the length of his neck. Golden blood spilled onto his skin as he drew it upward over the cross inked into his flesh. 

In moments the burn of his divine form taking over the corporeal started in his bones. Az sucked in a harsh breath, letting the pain wash through him. He felt his wings manifest moments later, and like that, the ache of the transformation finished. 

"There we are," Aziraphale, Guardian of the Light, said, his large white wings ruffling as he settled them tightly against his back.

The angel blinked rapidly, stepping back to look at the scene with new eyes. He sucked in a breath as he saw the distinctive red aura surrounding the victim, a heinous, sickly glow that made him nauseous just to look at. There was nothing like the signature of a demon. He could recognize it anywhere, their two natures opposing one another even at their most base natures.

"I was right. Unmistakably demonic. Fresh, just like you said." Az said, frowning as he looked more closely at the swarm of flies around the victim's head. They seethed and roiled in malicious intent, their glow a putrid yellow. Unnatural. "These are not normal either," he whispered; he needed to get a closer look. His wings unfurled with a rush of air.

"Don't! Let me at least make you a -" Anathema protested, no longer bothering when the angel jumped upward, his wings catching in the stagnant air, pumping to bring him level with the body. He could see them, laying inside ears and on the glistening open eyes of their meal, concealing the identity of who was beneath. He watched it as flies fluctuated. In a horrid display, they crawled down through the mouth of their victim, exiting the gaping slash of his neck.

Suddenly all movement from the creatures ceased, and Az felt a distinctive, wicked surged swamp from the hoard of insects. Slowly each fly turned toward him, the low hum of their movement reverberating the air all the way through his lungs.

"Az...I don't like this." Anathema hissed, her voice barely audible as she warily stepped away from the thing above them, even she could feel the wrongness. Suddenly, the mass of flies launched free from the corpse, swarming at Aziraphale with an overwhelming buzz of sound. Az's cry of surprise was cut off by the sheer density of the flies as they blocked him from her view in a cloud of wiggling bodies, the humming filling her ears. 

Movement on the brick walls caught Anathema's attention, and she staggard backward as she realized the insects were _everywhere._ Every available surface writhed with flies. Where they came from, she had no idea. She had no chance to react as another swarm came at her from all directions. The cloud of them was so thick they swallowed the light, casting her into darkness. Anathema cried out in terror, clawing at the things on her skin as they threatened to squirm into her ears and mouth, cutting off her ability to cast spells. She couldn't escape, the prick of clawed feet plucking over every inch of her clothing. Suffocating her in sheer numbers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, the next chapter in the series! I hope you all like my version of Aziraphale. I really wanted to write him a little different, I do plan on having other aspects of his original character throughout the story. He's just a badass angel in this one. I hope you enjoyed this creepy grossness!  
>  **  
> Please comment and kudo! Not gonna lie, I neeed it!**

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first jump into Good Omens! Can you all guess who John Smith is?  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy it, it's going to be a dark, twisted little journey!  
> Please comment, kudo and subscribe, whatever, I just love hearing from all of you! It is my motivation!


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